The Life Lesson I Learned the Day My Three Year Old Said by Kristina Hammar

Being responsible not only for yourself, but your spouse and four kids can become pretty mundane as time drags on. Day after day, your family seems to be uncompromising, ungrateful, and thankless for your presence. The amount of stuff that needs to be done in a day, all while juggling everyone else's schedules, is extremely overwhelming at best. These wild, beastly monsters that you slave away for, always with their heads up your ass, hanging off a leg, and tugging at the hem of your shirt, become way less appreciated as the blessings they truly are, over the course of the day. In that burnt out state of mind, you build a tolerance to the chaos, always expecting that the children's presence will be there infinitely- day after passing day, unchanged in spirit just as they have with you. Sometimes, all it takes is an innocent, untainted three year old, to show you what's really up with your life.

Waking up on this particular morning, I discovered that the hubs had forgotten to replenish my necessary Coca-Cola supply the night before. Five very precious minutes of my morning were wasted by having to run to the corner store to grab some. I'm not the kind of mom who gets up hours before her kids to shower, work out, or put myself together so I don't look like a raccoon from lack of solid sleep. First of all, that would put me at risk for running into the hubs on his way to bed after his midnight shift. Secondly, and most important of all, I'm just plain ol' lazy. I wake up at the same time as the kids and don't get around to myself until they're long gone to school.

Once I was properly awake, with caffeine in hand, I had to fight with the boys to get their butts in high gear. Our landlord was stopping by to drop off paperwork for us. With the non-stop rainy-snowy-rainy-windy-snowy-sleeting-icy drizzle weather we've had, complicated with the dog's winter boredom, our yard was a disaster of garbage, broken sticks, and chewed up dog toys. We only had a day’s advance notice that he was coming by instead of mailing it, so I told the boys if they got it cleaned up after dinner the night before, I'd give them $15 each on their allowance cards, leaving them just a few dollars more to reach spending level. They begrudgingly agreed, after conferencing like mini-lawyers, to do it before school when the sun was coming up, rather than after dinner, long after sunset.

I was already more angrivated than usual from bracing the cold to get my Coke and trying to push the boys out the door to get to work, when Bean starts to dig in her heels, coming up with her daily recurring list of reasons why she shouldn't have to go to school.

"I'm too tired. I'm coughing. My feet hurt so bad I can't walk on them! I think I have a fever because I'm sweating. My brothers got to stay home when they were sick. Tee was home for four whole days! They even got to stay home for their birthdaaays! Please mom, puh-leasssee!"

By this point, I was losing any hope, still clinging on by a thread somehow, of being in a good mood. I was extremely impatient with myself for getting impatient with the kids, only making me more aggravated by everything. My mind was racing a mile a minute behind Bean's whining and pleading, until it all jumbled into a ball of mass confusion, compacting into a bomb. With the mounting pressure of time ticking away acting as a fuse, I was one more "but" away from self-implosion. At that very fragile moment in time, when all I needed was the spark of someone breathing too closely to set off the bomb in my head, I heard it. I heard the fuse being lit with the spark that came in the form of my youngest child. Already in irrational tears, she opened the door to come down from upstairs, making it clearly known that she's unhappily awakened for the day. BOOM! My head explodes from the chaos, now spewing forth from all directions.

Emergency Survival Mode gets activated as I swiftly replace the Nice Mom attitude with the No-Nonsense Mom and start barking orders like a drill sergeant for bootcamp.

To the side door I go, calling out for the boys to hurry, because it's time to get going. I dart into the bathroom and yank a brush through Bean's rat’s nest of hair. Back to the kitchen to gather my purse, coat, and keys, heading off to run the boys to make Safety Patrol check-in on time. Then I head home to scoop up Bean and Stinx, double checking Bean's backpack on our way out, because she likes to sneak makeup, perfume, and items from her various "collections", into it that she's not permitted to take to school. With the girls loaded, I set off to pick up three more kids. My last stop is running behind, so I get stuck in the worst of the morning drop-off chaos. The same twenty asshats who think they're royalty, park in the drop-off zone, causing traffic to back up at the four-way stop that's right at the entrance. I cringe just thinking about the level of ignorant douchery that goes on. Finally I get home, feeling like I'd just come back from a battle. I'm super tense, cranky, mentally hungover, and physically exhausted. All I want to do is fall back in bed and sleep the day away, but Stinx had other plans for us and she wasn't taking NO for an answer.

Stinx had moved on, long past the No-Nonsense Mom meltdown this morning, forgiving me without asking for a spoken apology. The offenses I had committed against her weren't as important to her as her desire to play freely, laugh with innocence and explore the world- one tiny piece of fuzz picked off a dusty sock from under the couch discovered while searching for the lone M&M that escaped her clutches, at a time. So now here I was, standing in my living room trying to peel Stinx, finger by dainty little finger, off the hem of my sweatshirt. Her tumultuous grip was creating a strangling pull of the collar against my neck, causing me to feel annoyed by the lack of air I couldn't breathe. She wasn't going to allow me just a minute to myself to just scroll through Facebook and do something I wanted to, dammit! I tried my best to swallow back my angrivations and put on a happy face for her benefit, but I was really feeling resentful of her for being a responsibility for me. I know my irritation was going to come out with my words and I just didn't care at that point..

"What do you want to do, Stinx? What is it that YOU want from mommy?"

Despite the harsh, exasperated tone, the response I get back was sweet and soft, full of admiration for the one who finally gave her the notice she was begging for.

"Pway wit me, momma. Pway dockder."

I sighed, knowing very well that I was about to take a beating. Three year olds are extremely amused with the pained reactions you give while taking a karate chop to the tonsils with a tongue depressor or have a scope shoved through your sinus cavity into your brain.

Thankfully, after a painfully long half an hour of being assaulted by various objects of torture, innocently disguised as Doc McStuffins checkup toys, my bowels rumbling bought me reprieve. I finally got to cruise through Facebook, reply to some comments and even crank out a post before Stinx comes barging in to tell me my timeout was up, she wanted breakfast right now. As long as we have some, it's a guarantee that Stinx will scream for the next hour, because she wants to eat shredded cheese out of the bag and sour cream straight from the container with a spoon for breakfast every single day. You can't serve it any other way to her liking, but I'm not going to give in and serve them her way, because, welp, I'm the parent and I say so. There's gotta be some kind of civility around this angrivated house. And, just as I called it, a tantrum soon erupted and Stinx's screams were loud enough, on this already miserable day, to wake her dad a whole hour earlier than he needed to.

My mood was as sour as the milk in the sippy cup I found under the boys' dresser- the one that went missing over three weeks ago. And now, the hubs was awake with a mood of his own to match. Or, at least I perceived his mood to be one matching mine, before he had even finished brewing a cup of coffee on the Keurig, let alone rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Misery loves company, or so the story goes, and that's the story I was writing without thinking. The deck was stacked against us working together like a well-oiled machine, the cards I dealt us from that deck all a bust. Throughout the remainder of the morning, whenever our movements required any interaction between us, I made a point to push before he could pull against me. I pushed him right into embracing the mood I deemed him to have, before he was even awake and caffeinated.

The angrivated household sure was living up to its name this morning, taking down victims faster than a hired hit-man with a million dollar a head hit list. Anyone unaccustomed to this level of tension would probably feel suffocated from it. I just wanted to start my day over again at this point. Go back to last night, even, so I could text my hubs to remind him to stop at the store on his way home from work. I was distracted by the chorus in my head, singing a tune of loathing life in the key of self-pity. This only perpetuated the fact that I had wasted my whole morning in a battle of wills with my children, delaying the inevitable need to get dressed until I was way behind schedule. Now, I was forced to share the same bathroom space with the hubs, who made sure I knew he did not appreciate my presence one bit. Mad at myself for everything that the universe had dumped on me since waking up, because I knew somehow it was deserved, my stewing angrivation was beginning to boil over into anger, and I went from subtly pushing against the hubs to poking at him with every bit of my energy:

"Who would leave their dirty socks sitting next to the couch? Ugh, why would you put the toothpaste next to the toothbrushes, because that's not where I usually put it. How come you didn't throw that bag out, because I know you saw it was empty?!? The nerve of someone who got to sit around and watch football all day yesterday. I don't know where the baby wipes are, try looking for them, I hear that's what people do when they can't see something they think should be right in front of them. Now who's texting you? Did you really have to spray that cologne, you know it makes me queasy?! You did it on purpose, didn't you? Will you just move outta my way already? GEEZ!!!"

By the time we got Stinx into the van and drove off to run our errands, the hubs and I were on non-speaking terms, but that wasn't going to last. Before I made it to the first traffic light, the hubs decided it was his turn to lay in on me and give me a taste of that mood I had put him in.

"Don't stop like that. Why are you so close to that car? Watch out! Don't forget about the train tracks. Why don't you get over a lane now?! Go towards the left. I told you to swerve towards the left there, don't you see the way it's bubbled up under the tracks? Don't ride so close. Why do you complain that everyone rides your ass and then do it yourself!?! You're such a horrible driver. I wish I had driven, I can't stand being in this seat! Look out! Slow down already! Don't take such sharp turns, you're a maniac! How have you never been in an accident before, you should've killed someone by now?!? Can you be any harder on a vehicle!?!"

The trip through the grocery store didn't get any better. We tried so hard to put on our 'fake it in public so we don't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves' personas, but there was a cloud of negativity, thicker than the curds in that three week old sippy cup, enveloping us. And it wasn't dissipating.

We separated after making it only three feet, when the hubs got noticeably irritated at how long it was taking me to pick out ripe bananas, find three-bump sweet peppers for fresh eating instead of the four-bump ones that are better for cooking, and choose a container of strawberries that hadn't turned into moldy jam on the bottom. By the time he rejoined me near the meat department, he was more irritated than when we had parted. The other shoppers nearby went home knowing that I purposely try to starve my hubs, because the only meat I had in the cart was stuff he won't eat. Like ranch steaks, boneless pork sirloin chops, and chicken leg quarters. He's got the taste buds of a toddler, and let's nevermind the fact that he had returned to our cart with an overflowing armful of toddler-approved foods that he'll willfully eat instead of my home-cooked goodness.

Surprisingly, I managed to keep myself in-check, focusing on my list of necessities, pushing on through the throngs of people while trying to breathe deeply and ignore everyone. I was praying silently that the hubs would get swallowed alive by the masses, but he just kept popping up next to me every time I paused for the next item on the list, further getting on my nerves with his running mouth. When we got to the checkout, the poor cashier was assaulted with our passive aggressive digs at one another, hidden in responses to her innocent questions asking if we found everything okay and enjoyed our shopping experience. When I suggested that the hubs should be bagging our groceries to save the lady some trouble, he got fed up and took Stinx out to the car, leaving me to bag and pay alone.

Huffing and puffing under my breath, I trudged across the parking lot and loaded up the groceries. Stinx started asking for all the food she was seeing peeking out so I pulled out a chocolate chip cookie.

After all the craziness she'd listened to all day, the poor kiddo deserved a treat. The hubs was in the passenger seat, lost in his phone, and the mere sight of him made me want to throat punch him. I just couldn't believe that he would be so frustrating to deal with, that he couldn't just let me ride my bad mood out without adding to it. I pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, turning more sharply than usual just to get my hubs back for leaving me in the store like he did, and I hear all the grocery bags tip over, sending fruit, cans, and cereal boxes tumbling out across the floor of the minivan. Before I even had time to absorb the whole situation, my mouth was reacting. "Dammit! Fuck you! I can't take it anymore! Why the fuck are you ALWAYS trying to piss me off!" To which the hubs immediately started to scream back, "Fuck. YOU!"

Out of nowhere, there comes the tiniest little "Fuck Ewww, ahhahaha," from the backseat where Stinx had been stuck taking it all in. Both the hubs and I swung our heads around simultaneously, to look at this sweet, innocent three year old, who instantly put her finger to her lips and went "Ssshhhhhh!"

In that moment, something went off inside of me, turning on a light and opening a door simultaneously, to a realization that I had not thought through before. I barely heard my hubs, his tone softened and changed by that precious little angel grinning sheepishly from the backseat, as he tried to get her to repeat what it was we had both heard her mimic mere seconds ago. My mind was wound tightly, trying clumsily to make sense of the change taking effect in my head. A change so big, so powerful and mighty, that I was crying without even knowing it until I felt the wetness dripping down my cheeks, rolling off of my chin, and onto my pants. A change that was happening all because of my Stink-Toofs, Stinx MaJinx, the soft-skinned lizard, as the husband affectionately called her as a newborn. Just a little over three years old, Stinx believed that the world revolved around her still. Everyone and everything holds a purpose relative to her wants and needs without considering others might have their own. She has an understanding of the most basic feelings, but no greater understanding of how those feelings affect anyone except herself. Sympathy and empathy are only beginning to develop with complexity around this age, only being sympathetic or empathetic when she can relate a situation directly to a memory of her own past experiences or recollection of her current ones. The subdued capacities of these still-developing minds is what allows toddlers to be able to live so fully in the present moment. They aren't able to recall the past in great detail and have no concept of the future except in that familiar word “tomorrow” grownups frequently talk about. Stinx lets go of everything and moves on rather quickly, holding no resentment or grudges against others. What a way to live, if we could all be so lucky!

That little girl unknowingly taught her momma a very invaluable lesson that day. So caught up in negativity, I was, that I stopped living for the moment. I had shut myself down, blocked out everything that wasn't commiserating with the negativity I chose to follow, from that very first moment when I realized I didn't have what I wanted. Instead of staying positive in light of things not going my way, I had focused my day on gathering more and more negativity, feeding the monster inside me until it raged. I needed to take a step back, live life more like the Stinx. Taking each moment as it comes, then letting it go as I move on to the next. What already is done is done and carrying it along for the ride was just going to bring me, and everyone else around, down into the depths of a hell of my own creation. What good is that going to do, because as far as I can see, it didn't do me a single bit of good for any on this particular day.

Now, whenever I find myself getting worked up, I just look over at Stinx. Her little voice reverberates in my head exactly the way it sounded that day in the car, so innocent and confused, yet happy in her own moment of being, and it reminds me to be just like her. Whoever thought that one day they'd find themselves looking up to their toddler, just the same way their toddler looks up to them.... I certainly never did. But it was definitely well worth that "Fuck You" in the end, because the past is gone, the future is unknown, and the present is the gift we can live in just for today.

Kristina is a Coca-Cola guzzling, go-with-the-flow sahm of 4 who has a passion for writing. She spends most of her days getting angrivated with the day to day challenges her brood brings to the table. When she's not too busy rounding them up or chasing around her dog & three cats, she tries to spend quality time with her husband & greatest fan. She runs a Facebook page, The Daily Rantings of an Angrivated Mom in her spare time to keep her sanity above ground, & writes a blog that can be found at Angrivatedmom.wordpress.com, chronicling her rantings & ravings in lieu of going to therapy.

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